Beyond the Horizon
by Spork and Foon
Summary: AU: A vengeful Death Eater breaching the security of Privet Drive causes an eight year old Harry Potter to be taken to Hogwarts and to be adopted by Albus Dumbledore; hence, forming the most dysfunctional family the Magical World has seen in years...
1. Chapter One: Of Cloaked Figures

**Beyond the Horizon**

**_By Spork and Foon_**

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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all its characters, is the lawful property of J. K. Rowling, and may she have mercy on my soul for my utterly distasteful use of them. In no way whatsoever do I profit financially from this.**

**Summary: A vengeful Death Eater breaching the security of ****Privet Drive**** causes an eight year old Harry Potter to be taken to Hogwarts and to be adopted by Albus Dumbledore; hence, forming the most dysfunctional family the Magical World has seen in years…**

**Author's Note: After reading HandMeDown Clothes by _Quillitch_, I felt the need to write my own story where Harry is taken away from the Dursleys' care as a young child. Because I didn't want to copy _Quillitch's_ story completely, mine will be slightly more dramatic.  I demand that everyone reads the above story, or else they will have the almighty power of the Spork and Foon to answer to. It is in my favourites.**

**Thank you to _pingpong5_ and _Skyshifter_ for beta-ing this chapter.******

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**Chapter One: Of Cloaked Figures**

**A**lbus Dumbledore frowned, slightly disconcerted by the contents of the piece of parchment that lay in front of him. There had been murmurs of dark activity throughout Great Britain recently, and the rumours were that Death Eaters who had avoided incarceration were to blame. Even though the Death Eaters were without their leader or an army of formidable force, the amount of hysteria they could create would be enough to damage the tentative shroud of peace that covered the Wizarding World at this present moment.

There was no way Albus could deny that he was regretting not following the cases against many alleged Death Eaters, but after the fall of Lord Voldemort, when turmoil had reigned, he had been occupied with more pressing matters, and by the time they had been arranged, many had already bribed themselves out of the situation or declared that they had been under the influence of the _Imperius_ curse. Complete codswallop, if you asked Albus Dumbledore, but unfortunately, no one had in time, or at least, no one who had any authority over the matter.

The illustrious Headmaster of the prestigious Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry calmly chose a quill from his extensive collection, and penned a short letter to the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, stating that their was no need for panic, and that he, Albus Dumbledore, would like to meet with him to discuss the problem. He was just about to rise, and take a brisk walk to the Owlery, when a deafening _ping!_ sounded.

It was a well known fact that Albus Dumbledore was not prone to panicking, but there is always an exception to the rule.

His face contorted into a mixture between panic, surprise, concern and anger. With agility that not many of the same age could match, Dumbledore grabbed a pinch of powder, and threw it into his dying fire. The fire became a brilliant shade of green, and roared with ferocity. He stepped into the fire, and with a concise voice, announced, "Thirteen Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging, Surrey".

And he was gone…

He only hoped he was not too late.

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**A**rabella Figg slowly stirred the teaspoon through the milky tea, and tapped it gently against the china. The sun had disappeared what seemed to be an eternity ago, but the relief of sleep would still not come. She was cursed to stay awake, with her extremely unwanted, undeniably depressing thoughts. She felt rather pathetic, not being able to control her sleeping patterns. Her eyelids were drooping, but when it came to slipping into unconsciousness, nothing would prevail. Warm milk and honey, and the long and undoubtedly tedious edition of _The History of the Magical World_, and the tried, and supposedly true, counting sheep method had all been attempted, and Arabella felt even more lethargic than before, but the idea of sleep seemed even more and more impossible. She assumed insomnia could be the answer to all her failed attempts. It could be that she was destined to never sleep again, to be stuck in eternal restlessness, until her last breath left her body and she joined her dearly departed husband whatever came after life.

Now _that_ was slightly hysterical.

Arabella took a deep intake of breath, and slowly sipped her white tea. It wouldn't do to become hysterical. She was a wizened woman, for Merlin's sake. Old women don't become hysterical. Arabella had some dignity, and even though she felt her life had no purpose, she might as well obediently follow the stereotype of an aged woman. These thoughts, the oxygen entering her body, and the tea all had a calming effect on her body.

"Now, now, Arabella," she reprimanded herself faintly, "act your age. What would Leonard say if he saw you in such a sorry state?"

Leonard was – had been her husband. Her dearly beloved husband, whose meals she had made for nearly fifty years, whose clothes she had ironed for the same amount of time, and whose hand she had held with all her might on his death bed. Leonard had been her purpose, her light in the dark, her oasis in the desert. Without him she no longer lived, she merely existed. She waited, almost impatiently for the time when she would follow him to the afterlife, when she would see him again. She had thought about taking the easy way out numerous times, but she had been brought up believing that suicide was the coward's way out, and even though Arabella Figg no longer had her Leonard, she had her pride.

No, suicide was definitely not the answer.

She did have one thing to live for though. Seven years ago, Arabella had been recruited to help protect the Boy Who Lived, also known as Harry Potter. He was a sweet-natured boy; she had deducted after the first meeting, and wholly did not deserve his fate. His adoptive family were terror on legs, but the positives of him living with the Dursleys outnumbered the negatives. His mother's blood flowed through the veins of Petunia, and Dudley Dursley, and this invoked the ancient magic to shield him from anyone or anything wishing him harm. Arabella was meant to be the last line of defence.

She wasn't sure how she was expected to save Harry from anyone or anything though, as she was a squib.

Theoretically speaking, if Harry Potter ever did come under attack, which she utterly doubted would ever come to be, she had been told to use any means possible to save the boy. What was she meant to do? Order her cats to molest the assailant? Ask the enemy over for a cup of tea and a biscuit, and bung on about what life was like when she was a girl? Dress in a cape and underpants, and threaten the attacker with the power of Squib Woman? Even hypothetically speaking, this idea seemed stupid.

A loud, definitely unwanted _ping!_ echoed through the air and Arabella's eyes widened with disbelief. Number four Privet Drive was under assault. The ancient magic had failed. It was up to the last line of defence. Hypothetically speaking had just become reality.

It appeared that she would have to rustle up Squib Woman.

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**H**arry Potter woke to the most unusual sound.

It was a loud cracking noise, rather like a whip, and it echoed defiantly through the air, as if it shouldn't be there. He hadn't heard such a noise before in his eight, short years of life. It didn't belong at such a time, in such an environment. It was undeniably out of place in the prim and proper suburb of Little Whinging. He sat up, concerned, and cautiously pulled a spider off a pair of threadbare, black socks. It would be unnerving to the eye of anyone who knew nothing of Harry's circumstances to see him pull the spider off with nonchalance. But Harry was used to the arachnids occupying the cupboard under the stairs where he slept, and he almost found it normal.

He crept out of the cupboard and into the kitchen. The air was still and silent and nothing appeared out of place. Until he heard someone breathing menacingly, and producing light by what looked like impossible means. Something _was_ out of place.

Harry skilfully pressed himself in between the couch and the armchair, and watched fearfully as the figure slowly wandered nearer and nearer to his hiding spot. The figure suddenly grunted, and moved towards the stairs, and the cupboard under it. As soon as it disappeared up the stairs, Harry took the opportunity to lever himself out of the hiding spot, and into the entrance hall. His eyes darted frantically, searching for somewhere to hide, and finally landed on the front door. Harry scrambled towards the door, threw it open, and ran out into the street.

The twelve street lights shined brightly, illuminating the street and the neat, colour coordinated gardens of the houses of Privet Drive. Harry scanned around frenetically, trying to find somewhere safe. Nothing stood out. Running down the street, nothing came to sight that was of any importance. That was, until he noticed another figure scurrying towards him. Harry attempted to focus on the figure, but found his vision was blurred. Sometime, when he had obviously been more than occupied, his glasses had been shattered.

"Harry?" The tone was filled with distressing desperation.

"Yes?" Harry said reluctantly, his pulse quickening as he answered.

"Thank Merlin," exclaimed the figure. It shuffled nearer, and Harry recognised who was so pleased to see him.

"Mrs. Figg?"

"Yes, yes Harry, it is me," she replied quickly. "Follow me. It's not safe out here in the open."

"What do you mean?"

She grabbed his by the arm, and he winced at the pain. "There's no time to explain. Come now, quickly. We must hurry."

They didn't receive the chance to hurry though, because as soon as Harry took his first step, a voice with an indisputably harsh edge to it screamed "_Avada Kedavra_." A blinding green light filled the street, and Harry felt Mrs. Figg go limp beside him. He watched with horror and morbid fascination as the old woman fell to the asphalt of the street, and listened to the thump. There was no questioning it.

Arabella Figg was dead.

Harry watched with wise caution and apprehension as the figure, cloaked in black, sauntered over to him. "Ah, Mister Potter. I am sure you have no idea how I have yearned for this day. I have been searching for you, Potter, ever since you caused the demise of my lord, my master. I have wanted revenge; I have felt hatred boil up in my stomach; and I have dreamt of this very day for longer than I care to remember. Finally, I have found you, little rabbit."

"Why?" whispered Harry, his tone giving away of how very scared he truly was.

"Why? Why? You do not know?" It cackled at his blank reaction. "How very ironic, that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, does not know about the very thing he is famous for." The wind stirred, and slightly rustled the black cloak.

"Famous," repeated Harry faintly, feeling light-headed, "how could I be – famous? I'm a – freak. I'm nothing special – nothing at all."

"Whether or not you are a freak, Mister Potter, I care not. All I care about is you being able to rectify the damage you caused seven years ago. You, Mister Potter, are going to bring back the Dark Lord."

Harry shuddered involuntarily. The mention of a 'Dark Lord' sent his body trembling and for some reason the warm, midsummer air suddenly become chilly. Harry knew, even though he was only eight and definitely not qualified with such things, that he wanted nothing to do with this 'Dark Lord.'

"No," his childish voice declared defiantly, "No, I will not help you."

The silence that followed was damning. What Harry had just said was stupid, yet courageous at the same time. It would probably be the last thing he would say before he suffered the same fate as Arabella Figg.

"No?" it hissed in a dangerously low voice.

"No," repeated Harry, with more conviction the second time round.

"If you were to live to enter Hogwarts, Potter, you would have been a Gryffindor. Supposedly brave, undeniably stupid. But you shall not live to then. I had thought about gaining the blood I need from you the hard way, keeping you alive, but after this little fiasco, the easier way is looking a lot more appealing. Goodbye, Mister Potter. Give your parents my greetings when you see them. _Avada Ked–" _

"_Stupefy_," cried an unknown voice. Harry watched with the same morbid fascination as he had with Arabella's death. The cloaked figure suddenly became lifeless, and fell to the ground gracelessly.

"Harry," whispered a hoarse voice, and he felt a hard pinch on his shoulder, "thank Merlin you're alright."

"Why?"

"What? Why do you ask 'Why?'?"

"Why do you care? I don't know you. You don't know me. Why do you care?"

The man heaved a great sigh, filled with regret, anxiety, relief, and a number of other emotions Harry could not identify. "Harry, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I was friends with your parents. They placed your safety in my hands, and I have failed miserably. Of course I care. How could I not care?"

Harry did not answer the question, guessing correctly that it was meant to be left unanswered. "Mrs. Figg…" Harry mumbled clumsily, and Dumbledore followed his gaze to the fallen woman.

"Oh – Merlin – Arabella – what have I done?"

The man released Harry's arm, and walked quickly over to Arabella Figg. He studied her for what seemed to take an eternity, and then beckoned Harry over. Harry obliged obediently. Albus took Harry's small, clammy hand in his, and brushed his own other hand over Arabella's eyes, closing her dull brown eyes. "Rest in peace … with Leonard," he murmured.

A series of loud cracks echoed throughout the immediate area, and Harry watched with fascination as a number of figures in cloaks appeared. He wasn't feeling all that sad about Mrs. Figg's death. He felt sorry that she had died, but it someone had asked him if he was feeling _grief_, he would have answered in the negative.

"Where are your family Harry?" asked Albus Dumbledore, peering through his half-moon spectacles at the boy.

"In the house, I guess. Why do you want to see _them_?"

Dumbledore frowned at what Harry's tone implied, and then said, "It is essential that I see them now."

Harry scowled, and gestured for Dumbledore to follow him. They found the three members of the Dursley family squatting behind the bed in the main bedroom. All three paled when Harry entered the room. His Uncle Vernon stepped forward menacingly. "Boy! This is your entire fault. You, and your – kind placed Petunia, Dudley and I in mortal danger. Never again will you live under our roof. Too long has our charity been taken for granted! It's off to the orphanage with you -"

"Ah, Mr. Dursley," interrupted Albus Dumbledore, "I understand the – ah – importance of your remarks towards Harry, but I must speak with you and your wife."

Vernon Dursley's gaze turned to the strange man in his house. He looked rather like … one of them … freaks.

"Who," he sneered, "pray tell, are you?"

"Albus Dumbledore, at your service," Dumbledore said with a small bow, "I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry looked at Dumbledore with wide eyes. _Witchcraft and Wizardry?_ What was he on about?

"Get out of my house now!" growled Vernon. He took another menacing step towards Harry and Dumbledore.

"No," said Dumbledore simply. "I believe that you understand why it was so necessary for Harry to live with you after his parents' deaths. Lily's blood, which runs through both Petunia's, and Dudley's veins, invoked the ancient magic, which caused Harry to be protected from all those who would want to harm him. But tonight's breech – of this security, has forced me to look deeper into the circumstances." Dumbledore glanced at Harry, and then turned his gaze to Vernon. "Mrs. Dursley, do you love your nephew?"

Petunia laughed hollowly. "Me – love that – freak! You must be joking."

Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, do you love your family?"

Harry grimaced. "No," he muttered.

Albus' frowned deepened. "It is so obvious, and I missed it!" he said softly to himself. Louder, he declared "For the ancient magic to work, the one needing protecting, and the blood relative must, at least, have a friendly relationship. It is all too obvious that both of you, Mrs. Dursley, and Harry – have a – number of differences which keep you from loving each other. It is no longer safe for Harry to stay here."

Harry's white face paled even further than was thought possible. "Where will I go?"

Albus turned to Harry. "Well, only if you wanted of course – you could live with me – at Hogwarts? It would give me a chance to rectify all the problems I have caused." His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes were almost hopeful.

Harry thought about the choices he had. Hogwarts, a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with a man who obviously cared for him a lot more than the Dursleys did, or he could live out his own personal version of Oliver Twist. It wasn't a difficult decision to make.

"Yes, I will live with you," Harry said fervently, his emerald eyes shining.

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**Last Updated – 1st of March, 2004**


	2. Chapter Two: Of Magical Castles

**Beyond the Horizon**

**_By Spork and Foon_**

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**Disclaimer: Peter Pan was written by J. M. Barrie.**

**Author's Note: Out of all the posted chapters, chapter two was the one I was most unhappy with, and so, to make it the calibre I strive for, it took time, and the fact with the amount of homework and tests I had and have hasn't helped either. Alas, if only fanfiction was a subject one could be marked on.**

**Thank you to _pingpong5 _and_ Skyshifter_ for beta-ing this chapter.******

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**Chapter Two: Of Magical Castles**

**T**he first thing that needed to be done after Harry's affirmative answer was to collect his abysmal amount of possessions. The arachnids were flicked, the socks cringed at and the collection of figurine knights and horses lovingly placed in a spare pocket. The second thing to do, which was completed during the collection, was to decide on a name for Harry to call Albus Dumbledore.

"Mr. Dumbledore?" suggested Harry, frowning at the formality.

Dumbledore looked like he was contemplating this suggestion, and then shook his head in the negative. "Much too formal. If I am to be your guardian, I want to be a figure you can like and trust, not one who keeps you at a distance through primness."

Harry smiled wistfully, and asked shyly, "Are you going to be my new grandpa?"

The reply was instance. "Would you like me to be your new grandpa?"

"Yes! Yes!" cried Harry fervently. "I've never had a grandpa before," he confessed, giving the wizened mage a small smile.

Dumbledore pondered this for a drawn-out moment, and then his face cracked into a toothy smile. "Well, that's that then. I'll be your new grandpa. But we still haven't found an answer to our original question. What are going to call me?"

"Pa," announced Harry with an air of wisdom. "That is what grandpas are called."

"I like it." Albus smiled at the young boy.

Harry returned the 'newly christened' Pa's smile, and with an exaggerated sigh, glanced around his cupboard under the stairs once more. It was stuffy, mouldy and dismal, but it had been home for the past seven years. Even he, who hated the Dursleys, and anything even remotely connected with them, more than anything he knew of, felt a pang of regret at leaving his cupboard. But it had to be done. The Dursley house was no longer safe, except he didn't know what from. He was finally to be free from the stifling, depressing environment of the Dursley household.

"Do you want to say goodbye?" asked Albus, giving the cupboard his own inspection. The idea of a young boy growing up in such small, gloomy dimensions horrified Albus, and he was wholly glad that Harry was going to come to Hogwarts, where he would be loved, and praised, and reprimanded accordingly. The rest of his childhood might be slightly dysfunctional compared to other wizarding children's, but it would be utterly better than staying with the Dursleys. He had not been _actually_ _been_ abused at the Dursleys but the neglectful behaviour he had received was blatant. Dumbledore was ashamed that he had not noticed earlier.

"No," replied Harry quickly, hoping that he wouldn't be forced to.

Albus frowned, but complied with Harry's wishes.

"How are we meant to travel to this – Hogwash – or was it Pigwarts?"

"Hogwarts, Harry, Hogwarts, and we shall travel by floo powder, as you are too young to apparate, and double-apparation is illegal. Though that doesn't mean the more daring of our society do not make it a common practise."

"Floo powder – apparate – double-apparation?" questioned Harry, feeling quite ignorant, and slightly light-headed.

Albus smiled. "It is hard sometimes Harry, to believe someone who belongs so obviously to the wizarding world, knows so little of it."

"Wizarding world?" said Harry faintly.

"Ah – Harry, I do beg for your forgiveness. I am talking ahead of you. Harry, you are a wizard." This was said without any hint of cautiousness, and the shock Harry felt immediately after this revelation was undeniably understandable.

"Wizard! But magic doesn't exist!" argued Harry, though his tone did not carry conviction.

"Yes, it does," said Albus gently, "and you have seen it with your own eyes. For it was magic that made the man who was advancing on you to turn stiff, it was magic that made the men in cloaks appear around you, and it was magic caused the death of Arabella Figg. There are both good and bad aspects to magic, as there is to everything else. You, Harry, will be an excellent wizard, once you learn how to channel your magic. That is why we will take you to Hogwarts. It is a school, of witchcraft and wizardry, and even though you will not actually learn magic until the age of eleven, you will learn what many young magical children take for granted. Like what the terms floo powder, and apparate mean. You will be safe at Hogwarts, Harry, and hopefully, happy."

Harry paused, contemplating these arguments, and then said "That all sounds fine and dandy, Pa, but you have the wrong boy. There is no way I could be a wizard. I'm just me, perfectly _normal_ and _boring_ Harry Potter. Nothing special – never have been, never will be."

"I just don't quite believe that Harry. Have you ever made something unusual happen? Something spontaneous and horribly difficult to explain by ordinary means?"

Harry reflected on all the weird happenings in his life, and a smile reached his face. There was the time when he had been chased by Dudley's gang, and had found himself on the roof of one of the buildings at school, and time when he had been dreading to go to school because of a highly unflattering haircut thanks to Aunt Petunia and he'd managed to grow it back. Now that he thought about it, there was no possibility that he wasn't a wizard.

"I knew you'd think of something," said Pa with a grin. "Harry Potter – not a wizard – what a preposterous thought – with lineage like yours – you'll be a wonderful wizard with a bit of training."

"Well – I hope so," spluttered Harry, somewhat embarrassed.

Albus sensed Harry's mortification with such a statement, and smiled. "I do believe we have an appointment to keep at Hogwarts."

"Yes, we do, but what about Mrs. Figg, and that person in black?" Harry shivered when he mentioned the figure in a black cloak, remembering what it had said to him after murdering Mrs. Figg.

Albus frowned. "That will all be sorted out by the men in cloaks you saw apparate around you. They are Aurors, and one of the many jobs that branch off from that post, is for them rectify such happenings as the one that happened into. You, Harry, are free to go." 

Harry sighed with contentment, and then said brightly, "Well, let's go then. The sooner we travel to Hogwarts, the better." 

Albus obliged, and pulled a small container out of his robes, and walked down to the fire place. Harry followed closely. The wizened wizard lit the fireplace with absolutely no trouble, and threw a small handful of the powder into the flames. They turned a intoxicating green.

"We'll go together Harry. It's safer, as it is your first time."

"What do I do, Pa?"

"Step into the fire, and I will do the rest."

Harry eyed the fire gingerly, not knowing how he was to defy seven years of teaching that fire was hot, and to never touch it, but somehow he did, and found himself shocked by the tickling sensation. Albus closely pursued him, and holding Harry tight by the shoulders, said clearly, "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts."

The feeling of travelling by floo powder was definitely original. If Harry could think of any feeling, imagined or experienced, that would feel the most like that of travelling by floo powder, it was the feeling of being sucked down a giant plug hole. The roaring in his ears was deafening, and the swirls of green flames nauseating. After what seemed to an eternity, Harry tumbled out of a hearth, and found himself in the most peculiar office he had ever seen. He was entranced by a number of intriguing silver instruments. It was in front of them, studying them by eyes only, that Dumbledore found the young boy.

"Be careful what you touch Harry. I do encourage curiosity, but only with a strong dose of common sense."

A smile reached Harry's features, and he continued to observe the contents of the office. His eyes slid over the bookshelves, and the portraits of past headmasters and mistresses. They landed on a frayed hat.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"The Sorting Hat," answered Dumbledore, "and _that_ is all I am going to tell you, for the moment. You'll learn more about it in right time."

Harry pouted, annoyed that he wasn't allowed to know more. He was about to start an argument, but the arrival of a red blur disturbed him.

"Ah, Fawkes," said Dumbledore, as the red blur landed on his shoulder and became a red and gold bird, shaking its plumage proudly. Seeing Harry's confusion, Dumbledore added, "Fawkes is a phoenix Harry. An animal of many excellent attributes. Highly faithful and intelligent, and its tears have healing powers."

"It looks a bit like a chicken to me, Pa."

Fawkes trilled loudly, insulted. Contrary to his pet's behaviour, Albus smiled. "Do be careful what you say around Fawkes, Harry. Phoenixes are immensely proud creatures."

As Harry studied the phoenix, Albus rang a small bell, and almost instantly a small figure with bat-like ears too large in comparison to the rest of its body and wide green eyes like tennis balls. It was wearing a clean, white tea towel, with a crest sitting on the side. Harry jumped, startled once more by an unusual interruption, and scurried behind Albus.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"It is a house-elf," Pa whispered back. To the house-elf he said "Ah – its Knobby, isn't it? Would you be so kind as to ask Professor McGonagall to see me, please?"

"Knobby will do that sir." It scampered away as fast as it appeared.

"Why does it talk about itself like that?" asked Harry.

Albus looked thoughtful, and then shrugged. "I don't know the answer to your question. It could be a sign of their state of servility, under the rule of wizards and witches, as humans refer to themselves in the first person."

Harry shrugged, showing that he asked the question for the sake of asking a question. He sauntered over to the chair behind Albus' desk, and slowly sunk into the plush cushion. They waited, quietly, for the appearance of Professor McGonagall. She didn't disappoint, and in a few minutes she hurried into the office.

"Ah – Minerva, how pleasant it is to see you. Thank you for coming so quickly," said Albus, with a flourish.

"What is it that you want me for, Albus? It is the middle of the night and – sweet Merlin, who is that in your chair?"

Harry observed the woman quietly, amused. Her black hair was in a tight, severe bun, her eyes were sharp and quick, even though it was the middle of the night, and she had ample excuses to not be one her toes, and she was wearing a plain tartan dressing-gown, with not a crease to be seen. She appeared to be the stereotypical strict teacher.

"I'm Harry Potter, ma'am," he said, all politeness.

"Harry Potter?" McGonagall said faintly.

"That's correct, ma'am."

"Albus, why is _Harry Potter_, of all people, sitting in your chair, in your office?" she continued in the same soft voice.

"There was an attack on Harry's place of residence. The wards did not hold. The Dursleys household is no longer safe, and just between us, the care was inadequate. Harry is going to stay with us, and I am his new guardian."

"An attack! By who?"

"I really don't think that this subject is appropriate for Harry's ears," Albus said, glancing at Harry, who was watching them with wide eyes.

Minerva muttered incoherently, and then her eyes scanned the small figure that was Harry Potter. Messy black hair, bright green eyes, and a scar shaped as a lightening bolt. It was Harry Potter; a few years older than when she had last saw him, outside those horrid muggles' house, but still the same person, in characteristics, and in aura.

"Well, Harry," she said at last, having recovered from the shock, "welcome to Madness itself." She turned to Albus, and with a small smirk said, "Severus is not going to be pleased."

"I'm sure he gets to know Harry, and Harry gets to know him, they'll like each other well enough."

"Is denial a symptom of becoming senile?" muttered Minerva. Louder, she declared "Well, I best be going. I have sleep to catch up on. Nice to meet you Harry, and I will see you at – breakfast, it seems."

"Nice meeting you too, ma'am."

Professor McGonagall smiled faintly, and walked out of the office with her usual grace.

As soon as she had left, Harry spoke, "What did you say her name was again?"

"Professor McGonagall" replied Pa, with more of a smile than a frown. "Well, I suppose I should find you somewhere to sleep. You will have a big day tomorrow."

"Oh, please," gushed Harry, "there is positively no way I could fall asleep now, after all the excitement. Can't we just stay up?" Harry, unconsciously, gave Albus puppy dog eyes. "Please – Pa!"

Dumbledore relented. "I guess we can. What would you like to do?"

Harry paused, looking quite bashful. "Could you – well, I was wondering – no, it's stupid!"

"What's stupid, Harry? I can promise you, no matter what you say, I will not laugh."

Harry looked dubious, and then continued. "I was wondering – well, could you – if it isn't too much – read me a story?"

At this moment, Harry appeared so vulnerable, and Albus' heart went out to him. Harry had never known what most children took for granted. He had never known the kind of love that makes life worth living. Harry was just a small, lost boy, needing guidance, and an infinite amount of love. And Albus Dumbledore wanted to give him just that. Harry deserved a home, and a family, and Albus was sure that the Hogwarts community would supply this. Harry would, hopefully, finally able to be happy.

"Of course I'll read you a story" said Pa tenderly. "But I must admit; I am not all that knowledgeable on stories." 

"I am," cried Harry zealously. "Could you read me _Peter Pan_?"

"_Peter Pan_ – yes, I do believe I have heard of that story." Albus pulled out his wand, and transformed a thick, dusty volume into the book _Peter Pan_. Harry scuttled out of the chair, and Dumbledore sat down with a light thump. Harry snuggled himself onto his Pa's lap, and Dumbledore opened the thin book.

"_Peter Pan_, by J. M. Barrie." He cleared his throat, and then continued, "_Everyone knows that children have to grow up. Wendy had known this for ages. But she didn't think much about it until she met Peter Pan! Wendy lived with her mother and father... _"

Dumbledore read the book into the early morning, with Harry on his lap. When he was almost halfway through, his heard a faint snore, and looked down to find Harry fast asleep. He smiled, and slowly placed the book down, picked the wisp of a boy up, and took him up the stairs to his bedroom, feeling both a developing feeling of affection for him, and pity for having lived such a horrible life.

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**A**s Albus Dumbledore was contemplating the small boy who had already captured his heart, another, with less honourable intentions, was pondering The Boy Who Lived as well. It was the one who had attacked number four Privet Drive, and had almost succeeded in capturing Harry Potter. But now, it was incarcerated in a Ministry cell, awaiting a trial. No one had any doubts that the attacker would be either sentenced to life in Azkaban, or to the Dementor's Kiss; which punishment it was really depended on just how much the judge hero-worshipped The Boy Who Lived.

The figure sneered sadistically. The Ministry were fools. This holding cell in the Ministry would not be imprisoning it for much longer. It would prevail. It would capture Harry Potter, it would sacrifice the boy, and Lord Voldemort, its beloved master, would be resurrected. A new era would begin with the Dark Lord at the head. All those tainted with muggle blood would perish, as would those who had opposed Voldemort in his first reign.

With a hint of a smile, it glanced towards the corridor, and hence, the guards outside its cell, and the smile became more pronounced. They were preoccupied with their dreams. Chuckling over just how easy its escape was, it removed a small object from the pocket from its robe, muttered something incoherent, and was gone.

The Ministry of Magic building might have been warded against apparated and portkeys, but one was able to obtain specially designated portkeys for to and from the Ministry. A few weeks earlier, the figure had acquired such a portkey, in case of the very predicament it had been in, from a bumbling official, no questions asked.

Idiot.

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**Last Updated – 14th of March, 2004**


	3. Chapter Three: Of Potion Masters

**Beyond the Horizon**

**_By Spork and Foon_**

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**Author's Note: I apologise profusely for the wait. With schoolwork, the unexpected gift of Harry Potter Quidditch World Cup on X-Box, the loan of Medieval Total War on computer and real-life, I have been distracted. Hopefully the inspiration for the next chapter shall appear soon, and thus, hopefully the next chapter shall appear sooner than this one did.**

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**Thank you to the always proficient _pingpong5_ for beta-ing this chapter.**** Without her, this train would never leave the station.**

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**Chapter Three: Of Potion Masters**

**_T_**_he lustrous motorcycle gave a low rumble as it travelled over the bright, glistening lights of __Bristol__. The colossal man who was riding the motorcycle gave a loud grunt, and his eyes darted towards the precious package he had bundled in his arms. Surrounded by layers of blanket, slept a small boy, only a few months older than one. He had a small mop of messy black hair and if his eyes had been open, they would have been a startling green. A thin lightning bolt shaped scar was the only sign of the turmoil and tragedy he had been involved in tonight. It was the only remnant of a curse that had been aimed to kill._

_"It's 'right, 'Arry," murmured the giant. "It's all gonna be 'right."_

_As if to prove this, he stepped down on the accelerator, and the motorcycle let out another low rumble. With surprising speed, it disappeared into the black that was the night…_

"Welcome from the Land of Nod, Harry," murmured Albus Dumbledore, as the petite boy's eyes fluttered open. "I trust you slept well."

Harry nodded, still half asleep. He glanced around the room where he had spent the night, and found his eyes widening at the unnecessary extravagance. He was lying in a four poster bed, which could fit at least six of him comfortably. It was adorned by red and gold furnishings, though Harry did not know the significance of these colours. The floor was uncovered stone, which radiated a feeling of iciness, but was countered by a thick, fluffy rug. A large window graced one wall, causing streams of light to illuminate the shadows. An assortment of bedroom furniture, such as a wardrobe, was scattered around the room, adding to the feeling of lavishness.

Albus watched as Harry's eyes widen as they roamed the room. He smiled, amused with his charge. "It is time for you to get up, Harry. We need to go to breakfast, and I must say I am feeling particularly famished. There is nothing better than a good sleep to make one feel hungry"

Harry looked at him solemnly, as if he was worried.

"What is wrong, Harry?"

"Well – I don't have anything to wear – in front of – _important wizards and witches_." His voice held a certain reverence as he said the last three words.

"I see. That can be managed."

"How, Pa?"

"Harry, am I not a wizard? Transfiguration just happens to be my field of qualification."

"Transfiguration? What's that?"

"Transfiguration is the altering of one object to another, such as making an animate object, inanimate, and vice versa. Some Transfiguration spells only alter a part of something, such as someone's ear changing from normal to rabbit ears. It is a very difficult form of magic."

"So you can change my yucky clothes, to nice clothes?"

"It sounds so simple when you put it that way, but yes, that is the gist of Transfiguration."

Harry jumped out of bed, elated. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Dumbledore suppressed a smile, and he pulled out his wand. He studied the small, malnourished boy in front of him, and murmured something incoherent. Harry felt his clothing tingle, and he looked down, to find himself clad in a black robe.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, his eyes sparkling.

Dumbledore took Harry's small hand, and led him through the many corridors of Hogwarts. Left, right, middle, right, right, left… Harry lost count and all sense of direction, and was absolutely sure, if it weren't for his new Pa, he would be hopelessly lost. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, they walked through a large pair of opened doors. Harry gasped with delight. The hall was enormous to the small boy. His eyes wandered everywhere, relishing in the privilege he had been given to see such brilliance. The roof was sky blue, and scattered with clouds in varying sizes and shapes. Dumbledore saw Harry staring at the ceiling, and smiled. It was an awe-inspiring sight.

"It's bewitched to depict what the sky looks like outside," Albus told him.

Harry smiled happily, and followed the Headmaster towards the table. His step had a certain bounce to it, which Dumbledore had not missed to notice. It appeared that even after such a short time in the presence of his own kind, Harry was more content than he had ever been. They reached the table, and Harry smiled shyly at Minerva McGonagall, and blatantly studied the other professors. His eyes quickly passed over a number of the professors, and until they landed on an unpleasant looking man with rather long black hair, shrewd beetle black eyes and sallow skin. The man's eyes locked with his, and Harry suddenly felt as if someone was delving into his soul. He ripped his eyes away, and stared absently at the roof.

"My dear professors," declared Albus, "I have an announcement to make. It appears that Harry Potter has come to stay with us, indefinitely." At this announcement, a few of the professors unashamedly strained themselves to get a better view of The Boy Who Lived. Harry blushed, not entirely sure why they were so eager to see him properly. "I forbid anyone to ask Harry any questions about his past," continued Albus, though now his voice had a warning edge to it. "Am I understood?"

Each professor except for the man with sallow skin nodded profusely, and Dumbledore's eyes narrowed on the one person who'd refrained from nodding.

"Severus, do you not understand what I am saying?"

"Oh, I understand Headmaster, I just do not agree."

Dumbledore frowned. "Why do you not agree, Severus?"

"Well, if the boy," at this, he stared openly at Harry, his eyes trying to pierce the barriers into his mind, "is going to stay here, he will be a liability."

"A liability!" Dumbledore scoffed, as if he could not believe what he was hearing. "How ever did you come to that conclusion?" His eyes were twinkling, just asking Severus to try and worm himself out of the tricky position he had placed himself in. He was good friends with the Potions Master, but sometimes his lack of common sense and arrogance grated on Albus' nerves, and so he took a few privileges with the friendship to take Severus down a few notches.

"No one can deny that a number of wizards and witches who were Death Eaters would love to extract revenge on the Boy Who Lived. I am concerned that other students could be harmed if such an attempt was to happen. Potter is a liability."

The tips of Dumbledore's mouth once again faced downwards. "I do not think this is the correct time, place, nor company," he said, glancing at Harry, "to be discussing such things, Severus. I will speak to you later."

Severus glowered, but he muttered darkly, "Yes, Headmaster."

Dumbledore led Harry to a seat next to his, sat down, and motioned for Harry to do so also. Harry seemed torn for a moment, and then obliged, seating himself down gently on the seat. His eyes widened when he finally processed what he was seeing: a table laden with more food than was undoubtedly necessary for a small group of professors. Scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, bacon, fried mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, toast, cereal and more. Albus took Harry's plate, asked him politely what he wanted, and filled his plate to the brim, making a light comment about how he needed fattening up. He placed it in front of the boy, and told him sternly to eat it all up. Dumbledore talked briefly to Minerva about where Harry was to stay permanently, and turned back to find that Harry had not eaten one bite of his breakfast.

"Are you not hungry, Harry?"

"Well, I am hungry – but – you see," The Boy Who Lived began bashfully, as his cheeks began to flush red, "well – I don't want to – be eaten."

Albus Dumbledore spluttered, causing the indecently large mouthful of scrambled eggs he had just taken to fly everywhere. Minerva McGonagall grimaced, and wiped her face delicately with her napkin, while Severus Snape glared darkly at the boy who had caused the splutter.

"Eaten? Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, in the story Hansel and Gretel, the witch fattened Hansel up so she could eat him!" cried the nearly hysterical child. He sniffed with the air of a boy greatly troubled. "You have been very kind to me, Pa, but I still don't want to be eaten! I'm too young to die!"

The Headmaster of Hogwarts finally understood why Harry had the irrational fear of being eaten. "Harry, no one here at Hogwarts is going to eat you. If anyone even thinks about eaten you, which I doubt will ever happen; they will have me to answer to. Now, eat up your breakfast, and then I'll show you around the school."

Harry nodded eagerly, and quickly gulped down his breakfast, taking as few bites as possible. He practically licked his plate clean, and showed it proudly to his Pa.

"I didn't believe until this day that a human could inhale food. It seems it has been proven otherwise," quipped Albus, smiling broadly at his young charge.

"Can we go now, Pa?" begged Harry enthusiastically. "Please?"

"If we must." These three words began an onslaught of curious stares from the other professors, wondering what young Harry Potter had said to make the great Albus Dumbledore, allegedly the most powerful wizard in the world, mutter these words.

Harry cheered eagerly and stood up, grabbed a handful of the Headmaster's robes, and virtually pulled him out of the Great Hall.

"Where to first, Pa? Can I see some more magic?"

"I believe the library will be a good place to begin, and yes, if you are good, you may be allowed to see some more magic," coaxed Dumbledore smoothly.

Dumbledore took Harry's petite hand, and led the boy through the bamboozling corridors of Hogwarts to the library. They walked into the abandoned room, as there was not a soul in sight, and Harry's mouth dropped in awe. Never, in his entire life, had he seen so many books in the same place. Shelves filled in the brim with dusty volumes filled the room, as well as the occasional plain wooden desk and set of chairs. Light filtered in through a series of mediocre windows, which illuminated the thin layer of dust that covered nearly everything.

"Are there any fairy tales?" questioned Harry, his eyes roaming over the various titles of books.

"Not that I know of, but we will have to ask Madam Pince, the librarian, to know for sure."

"Can I see some magic?"

"I will only do something simple, Harry, as I do not think this is the place for pretentiousness." Albus drew out his wand, and uttered "Lumos." A vivid light appeared, and Harry stared at it with youthful curiosity. Dumbledore then said "Nox", and the light was no more.

"Can you please do some more, Pa?"

"I will perform some later, Harry. As I said before; the library is not the place for showing off."

After receiving a negative answer in his question, Harry's attention wandered. "Can we go somewhere else now, Pa?" he asked.

Dumbledore smiled faintly, and nodded. "I think it is time for you to meet Hagrid."

Dumbledore uttered this name with the utmost respect, even though, to Harry, it sounded like the most unusual and silly name he had ever heard. It was sillier than 'Duddykins', which never failed to send Harry into hysterics.

"Who's that?"

"Hagrid is the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, also known as the groundskeeper, but personally I think 'Keeper of Keys' just gives the position just that little something. It – spices the name up a little."

Harry tilted his head slightly, pondering these sentiments, and followed the Headmaster out of the library, and through the maze that was the halls of Hogwarts. At last, after what seemed to be an eternity to Harry – but was more like ten minutes – the pair were outside, striding towards Hagrid's quaint wooden hut. Smoke rose steadily from the chimney, signifying the occupant was indeed at home. Dumbledore pounded on the door, and whoever was inside threw it open fervently.

"Headmaster!" it cried. "An' yeh brought a guest! Please come in!"

The person – if it could be declared a human and not a giant – had a shaggy mane of hair, which covered his entire face except for his black, beady eyes, which glittered like beetles. Harry looked up at the man, and felt his neck slowly becoming stiff. Hagrid led them into a room that consisted of everything, including the kitchen sink! He motioned for them to sit down at the wooden table, and started to make tea.

"This, Hagrid," announced Dumbledore proudly, "is Harry Potter."

Hagrid's eyes widened, and the half-giant studied the Boy Who Lived. "'Arry Potter, I ain't seen yeh since yeh were a little one. Yeh sure have grown. Yeh look just like yeh dad."

The fact that this man had known him when he was little mesmerised Harry, as he had insufficient memory of his years before the Dursleys. All he had was an occasional memory, here and there. Suddenly, Harry's thoughts flew to the dream he had dreamt the night before, and his eyes widened.

"You're that man – on the motorcycle – in my dream," exclaimed Harry, his eyes staring adoringly at Hagrid. This man was the first memory he had, and the only complete memory of his life before the Dursleys. He sometimes remembered snippets, like 'Padfoot', 'Moony', 'Wormtail' and 'Prongs', but these words by themselves made no sense whatsoever to Harry.

Hagrid chuckled, delighted. "Yeh remember me."

Albus was watching the exchange, amused. "I do fear I am at a loss as to what the motorcycle was. Could you remind me, Hagrid?"

"Well, Headmaster," began Hagrid, with the air of a man who had a great number of stories to tell, and not enough people to listen to them, "after I got 'Arry from his ruined house, I met Black." This name was muttered with the paramount of contempt, which shocked Harry as he could not imagine the giant, no matter how large he was, wanting to even hurt a flea. "He asked if he could take 'Arry, and I refused. Then he then gave me his flying motorcycle, and told me to use it to get 'Arry ter safety. 'Arry must remember the trip."

"Who's Black?" asked Harry, staring at Hagrid, taking in the organised chaos that was his saviour of his life once before.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh that only a man with many burdens could sigh. "I don't think it is the time for me to tell you such things Harry. But, I will eventually, when you are ready, I promise."

Harry concurred submissively, surprisingly. Hagrid laid the tea and cups down on the table, as well as a plate of rock cakes. He poured the tea, and sat down, and the three wizards, one great, almost at the end of his journey; one expelled, regretting his lost opportunities, and one a beginner, just drawing out of the station that was learning, just sat, enjoying the carefree afternoon in each other's company.

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**S**everus Snape prided himself on being a complex, unpredictable man. A man that had convinced the Dark Lord he was loyal when he was most certainly not, a man that had endured the taunting and humiliation of the Marauders during his entire schooling, and a man who was firm in his convictions and beliefs. Severus Snape was no follower, but he was not a leader either. He was a scout, a solitary figure who may have been a leader in a past life, but circumstances in this one had made it not meant to be.

But his hatred of everything and anything Potter was purely simplistic, and rather animalistic.

Severus Snape loathed anything remotely Potter with every fibre of his being. It blinded a generally rational man, and it was this that Albus suspected had spurned Severus to object to what the Headmaster had asked of him and the other professors. Albus studied the man sitting in front of him. A brilliant Potions teacher he was, but he seemed a failure in the other aspects of life. With a frown, Albus began to speak.

"Would you like some tea, Severus? Or a lemon drop?"

"No thank you, Headmaster."

He poured a cup of tea for himself, and took a prolonged sip.

"What is it that concerns you, Severus?"

"I am concerned for the continuous safety of the students, which will be in jeopardy if Potter is allowed to stay here."

"Is that the only reason why you objected to Harry staying here?" pushed Albus gently.

"No," replied the Potions Master sharply.

"The fact that Harry is James Potter's son has nothing to do with it, then?"

"Most certainly not."

With a sigh, the Headmaster conceded. Severus Snape was not about to open his heart to the man who had brought his nemesis' son to Hogwarts. "Hogwarts is open to all those in need, including eight year old boys who have the remaining minions of the Dark Lord they vanquished out for their blood. Harry will remain at Hogwarts as my ward and if I find that you are acting inappropriately towards him, the consequences will be great. Do you understand?"

Snape gazed defiantly at the Headmaster and muttered, "Yes."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Severus. It would do you well to remember that. Close the door behind you as you leave." Dumbledore focused on the pile of paperwork in front of him that had accumulated while he had been spending time with Harry.

With an expression of bewilderment, the Potions Master left the office, closing the door behind him.

Albus Dumbledore drained the remains of his tea cup and wished solemnly that life had been easier on the bitter soul that was Severus Snape.

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**Last Updated – 20th of April, 2004**

**Replies to reviews (alphabetical order):**

**_athenakitty – _****I would love to answer your second question, but I can't. As to the last two, no, I seriously doubt Severus is going to warm up to Harry, and the only time Severus will be teaching Harry potions is when Harry actually starts at Hogwarts, and Severus is forced to. **

**_ER – _****Thank you.**

**_Felix the Cat – _****I love echoes, even ominous one. Well, here is the next chapter, and only three days after your review! Sadly, because of the reasons stated above, it is also a month after the last chapter. I swear I am going to try harder next time to be as quick as possible! **

**_Lady Zee – _****Thank you for your review. In reply to your comment about Harry's speech being too mature for an eight year old, I would just like to say that I agree. It is far too mature, but I have done this on purpose. Harry was forced to grow up quickly at the Dursleys, and hence, he is far more mature than most children are at his age. Also, to Petunia and ****Vernon****, ****Dudley****'s lisp would have been adorable, but Harry's would have been just plain irritating. I have no doubt that they would have scolded him about his speech, and thus, he would have strived to change it. Harry is far too mature, but as this story progresses, I plan to have Harry open up more and more, and become more like a typical magical eight year old.**

**_paradox01 – _****You are far too kind. I only did what desperately needed to be done.**

**_pingpong5 – _****Howdy! waves fervently Brilliant job beta-ing! Mmm … why did I change Albus' nickname? Well, to me, as Albus is going to be a parental figure to ****Harry****, ****Pa**** just seemed a lot more appropriate than Albie.**

**_Rocky235 – _****Talent! You think I have talent! And you weren't forced to say that! Gosh, that is more than any of my friends and family say about my writing. Consider yourself my new best friend!**

**_Rosaleen – _****Aww … your review made me feel all warm and fuzzy. The ending is ominous, but it is necessary for the plot.**

**_Skyshifter – _****Potential … I like it!**

**_Talamh – _****I love AU's as well. There are other stories where Harry is raised by Dumbledore, such as HandMeDown Clothes by _Quillitch_, and there are other stories in which Harry is raised by McGonagall, such as A Tabby and Her Kit by _uber grasshopper_. Both are well written and extremely enjoyable.**

**_xkristy101 – _****Well, here is the update! Aww … you think this story is great! Shucks! **


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